The parable of the bridesmaids is a story of dysfunction in the middle of a pandemic. Which makes it pretty fitting for us.
Facing the darkness that would consume us
Proper 27A | Matthew 25:1-13
Pain. Discomfort. Fear. Anxiousness. Things that consume. Emotions that fill our hearts with darkness. Jealousy. Outrage. Loss. Big, vague ideas that flood us with very specific fears. Running out of money. Losing the house. Needing medical care we can’t afford. Not knowing how to feed ourselves next week.
Tell me you’ve never feared losing everything!
And specifically, that flood that envelopes us and pulls us into the undertow. It is rarely based in present reality. It’s the fear of what could be if nothing changes.
In my time in the church, I’ve heard many attempts to spur our hearts to generous giving by inviting that flood in. By warning of the doom to come if we don’t face the fact that our present finances won’t sustain the next 20 years. And then the flood rushes in and we’re all trying to keep our heads above the water.
This is a metaphor, of course. But that present, enveloping darkness is an image that makes sense. I’ve seen the mood in the room turn on a dime because financial fear leads people away from gospel joy and toward the suffocating anxiety of survival.
And these moments have seen us flee from our embodying the dream God has for our community. And often flee from resisting that seemingly inevitable future. We run away from our mission and our responsibility to it.
Jesus is speaking from within the darkness.
In this section of Matthew, Jesus is in Jerusalem. He has been confronted by the Pharisees, Sadducees, chief priests, and scribes. And for his part, Jesus has confronted their complicity with empire, with the oppression of their own people, and the willingness to trade God’s dream for personal power, status, and wealth.
Now we skip over the chapter in which Jesus addresses his followers and warns them of what is to come. And he isn’t talking about budget deficits or coronavirus relief bills. Jesus gets apocalyptic, warning of the destruction of the Temple and what the Roman emperor is going to do to them. Brutal imperialism.
On a scale of one-to-ten, we might consider struggling to pay the church electric bill a three or four on the apocalyptic scale. Which, we’ll all admit is probably a bit inflated. But it feels symbolic. What Jesus is talking about—literal violence, destruction, enslavement of people. That’s a ten right there.
But Jesus isn’t trying to scare them at all. The point isn’t to frighten them into action. He is trying to prepare them for the onslaught to come.
There is a warning, here, yes. That there are dark times ahead. Be patient. And prepared.
Then he tells at the end of chapter 24 two parables about the necessity of watchfulness.
Because, remember, they have followed him for days and weeks and months. He has taught them over and over how to love and seek Christ in the people around them. They have everything they need. Now, the test is coming!
We’re being tested.
Not in the sense that God is doing this to us. That’s now how it works. But we’re in the midst of a dark time, facing our fears in the form of pandemics—as Dr. Meeks described it to our diocese a couple of weeks ago, Pandemics in the plural. Coronavirus, racism, hatred and violence, executions by the state. There’s a lot going on.
And as frightening as this all is in the abstract, any of us who have been at this following-Jesus thing for a few years—we really have no excuse for the fear. We’ve spent our lives following someone whose primary goal is to prepare us to usher in the kin-dom in the midst of empire.
We have no excuse for being freaked out. But we are.
Just like the disciples were.
And that’s the spirit that inhabits this teaching. This dark, twisted depiction of a groom and bridesmaids. In which the wise ones are cruel, the foolish ones get tricked, and the groom ghosts the ones who don’t get in.
This is a hard word for us to hear.
And given what Jesus is telling them, this parable is certainly about preparation. So of course, the wise ones prepared for this moment and the fools did not.
But like the other dark teachings at the end of Matthew, Jesus twists it to reveal the sinister underbelly of this selfish thinking.
Because, as followers of Jesus, our alarm bells should be going off all over the place. God’s abundant kin-dom isn’t a zero-sum marketplace of scarcity. God’s generosity ensures we all have enough.
Jesus doesn’t encourage his followers to deny the needy or refuse to protect them.
Think of what the disciples say to Jesus right before the feeding of the multitudes. They ask if they ought to send the crowds away to go buy their own food. And Jesus says that they, the disciples have enough. And with God’s grace, their meager fish and loaves feed thousands.
These supposedly wise women act like the disciples tried to act before. Because they thought that was being prudent.
And when they followed Jesus’s instructions, choosing to be generous like he asked them to be, Jesus transformed what they had into something miraculous.
In this parable, the bridesmaids do the opposite. It’s what happens when the disciples follow their impulse to go it alone.
There is a lot going on.
In this parable and in our lives.
However, if we’ve been paying attention, keep doing the kin-dom-building work, then we already know the way through this. It just takes doing some of the stuff we don’t want to.
Like loving our neighbors. All of them.
Keeping our commitment focused on increasing the generosity of our hearts.
And committing to assisting the most vulnerable in a dog-eat-dog world.
There’s a lot of healing that needs to happen, isn’t there? In this community, this state, this country, this world. Among this people and our planet. There’s some healing that needs to happen between us and God because we’ve been some god-forsaken selfish people lately.
But that reconciling doesn’t happen when we’re afraid of the dark, hoarding our lamp oil, tricking our neighbors with lies and deceit. Worrying about being wronged. Closing the door on fools.
Healing doesn’t happen when we’re afraid. It happens when we face those fears. Refuse to let each other hide. Share our lamp oil because it is precious. And take joy in knowing that we are facing these darkening nights together.
Getting Unstuck
In his stewardship reflection for this week [which you can find in the announcements], Matthew Woodward talks about weddings. And if you know anything about the practical side of weddings, then the joy, anticipation, and splendor of a most momentous occasion can be overwhelmed by the minutia.
“We can get stuck in the mechanics of delivery and all of the anxiety it generates,” he writes. “Or we can acknowledge that love is a great gift, and we should be grateful for it.”
This is the antidote to the enveloping darkness, isn’t it? To that consuming fear and overwhelming concern for the future that overrides our better judgment? Instead of that, we can share our light with fellow pilgrims; our joy with those who most need it; our grace with those who need forgiving. This is something we can choose!
It is also the thing Jesus will say at the end of this chapter is the sign that we’ve been following him. When we’ve brought light into other people’s darkness.
Jesus tells us a parable the disciples have already rewritten with their lives.
But one they will continuously encounter.
We will face pain and dark times. Or maybe we’re overwhelmed by all of the things at this very moment! But our work isn’t to leave others in the dark. It’s to shine God’s light anyway. To shine it when it is dark out. And we’re scared and lonely. Wondering when things are going to change.
This is the time to shine!
Because that lamp oil isn’t bought and sold. It isn’t something that is scarce. So it’s also not something anyone can monopolize or profit from. It is God’s gift and we are blessed to share in it.
So light those lamps. Come together. There’s enough to go around! Bring your friends. We’re good here. God is with us. This is where our trust is. Our hope. In this love. This mercy. Right here. When we need it most.
When the world needs us most. Because that love is precious. And with God, it never runs out.